


Footsteps

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Formula One, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written at the end of 2010 for the LiveJournal F1 Slash Kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps

_Don't even think about reaching me. I won't be home._  
Don't even think about stopping by. Don't think of me at all.  
I did what I had to do.  
If there was a reason, it was you.  
 **‘Footsteps’ – Pearl Jam**

**Monza, September 2034**

How did Frankie get to be 26? How?

Rob drained his second champagne glass, grimacing slightly as he set it down on the nearest table. It had been a while since he’d drank champagne. Even at Frankie’s 21st birthday party a few years back, he’d stuck to bitter. Champagne was something he associated, would always associate, with F1 alone, not with family parties. He leaned against the wall; feeling tired after travelling and the early start. His back hurt too; the price he was paying for too many years of sitting awkwardly on a stool at the pitwall.

He smiled and shook his head as a waitress in the Sauber hospitality area offered him another glass. In a few hours, he had to be back at the airport; this was very much a flying visit. The family party back in England he and Lucy had planned a couple of weeks ago on Frankie’s actual birthday hadn’t come to fruition. Frankie had had to work, and who was Rob to argue with that, given the years of his life he had devoted to F1? Rob understood better than anyone, and could see the disappointment in Lucy’s eyes, the feeling of history repeating itself, as Frankie had called her 2 days before his party to tell her he wasn’t going to be able to make it.

“Why don’t you come to Monza?” his son had suggested. “The team are going to have a bit of a thing for me there; it’d give you the opportunity to revisit the old place too?”

“Felix is moving into his new flat that weekend, Frankie, I think your mother had me pencilled in for some heavy lifting.”

“Come on dad – just for the weekend, yeah? Mum can help Felix until you get back. It’s Monza. How can you not want to come to Monza?” His voice broke into a cackle. “And should you really be lifting heavy boxes at your age anyway?”

“Shut it, you.” 

And now Rob found himself back in Italy, his 60 year old back playing him up more than he’d ever dare admit to his eldest son. Some people he knew from the past came up to say hello, but mostly these were all new faces to him. New drivers, new engineers, new team principals. Most people from his era were too old now, or too tired for the F1 circus. At the beginning of the afternoon it had been a relief to see Christian Horner come down the pitlane especially to see him and shake his hand. Once upon a time Horner had been the bane of all their lives; now he was seen as an elder statesman of the sport and one of the most respected and experienced team principals.

Someone turned the music up and Rob wondered what the hell it was. Something dancey. He hated dancey. He resisted thinking ‘young people, eh?’ to himself. Christ, he liked to think he was still with it enough to have not turned into  _his_  father. As if on cue, he saw Frankie walking through the crowd, a bottle of beer in each hand.

“Thought you might be wanting one.”

Rob accepted the beer gratefully, patting the chair beside him, and motioning for his son to join him. Frankie sat down, grinning from ear to ear in between sips.

“Great to be back in Italy, isn’t it!”

Rob nodded, but didn’t say anything. He could see the excitement in Frankie’s eyes; could sense the nervous energy flowing throughout his body. It was the Thursday of a race weekend, and soon he’d be out walking the track and talking things through with his driver. Rob was stupidly, inordinately proud of him. Frankie was hugely ambitious, and smart. Way smarter than he’d ever been, even. Something of a prodigy, Rob liked to think to himself, although not being one for bragging, he’d never say that out loud. Maybe his surname had aided him in getting recognised, but he’d done this all off his own back, and had been working as a race engineer for Sauber all season now. Peter Sauber was a good guy, taking a chance on Frankie when everyone told him he was crazy. Even though he didn’t attend races anymore, given his age, he’d been supportive of a young guy trying to get ahead in F1. Some things never changed.

“Dad – I said, great to be back in Italy, isn’t it?”

Frankie nudged Rob from his thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s fantastic, Frankie. Hard to believe it’s around 20 years since we moved back to England.” He chuckled. “My Italian’s even rustier now, and it was never great to begin with. Some woman was babbling at me at the luggage carousel at the airport and I had no idea what she was talking about.”

“It’s amazing here,” Frankie replied. “From what I can remember, I loved it here when I was a kid.”

Rob set his bottle down. “You did, Frankie, or should I say  _Francesco_. We were very happy in Italy.”

There was a momentary awkward silence. Rob didn’t talk about his former team much, and Frankie knew that. It was just that... it had torn him apart to leave this country, but after Felipe’s last contract had expired at Ferrari, he just hadn’t had the heart to stay there anymore. They had asked him, but he’d been 40-ish then and felt that returning to England would be a great way to lick his wounds. And they’d healed. It had taken a long, long time, but they had. On the surface at least. Any deeper than that, Rob didn’t allow himself to go. He’d been back in Italy only twice then, but it had been for holidays - a trip to Lake Garda for their wedding anniversary a few years back, and a weekend in Rome that the kids had bought them one Christmas. He’d never been back to Maranello. Even flying into Milan the night before had set him on edge. 

And now here he was, sitting in the paddock at Monza, knowing that tomorrow the main grandstand would be a sea of red; full to the brim with roaring, feverish tifosi. The atmosphere could be almost suffocating here when you worked for Ferrari. He was glad that Frankie was starting off at a slightly more low key team like Sauber. Maybe one day he’d follow in his footsteps and become part of the Scuderia, but Rob noted with a wry smile to himself that it all depended on his driver.

“What’s your prediction for our qualifying then, dad? And don’t give me any of your crap about how you’re usually out in the garden while quali is on. I know you watch every single second – and I know you’ve finally gotten your arse into gear and started reading websites too. Mum told me.”

“Don’t watch a minute of it,” Rob lied, seeing his son lean back and give a loud, booming laugh. Frankie reminded him so much of himself at that age it was scary. Same auburn hair, same gangly appearance, and definitely the same cheeky sense of humour. The only difference Rob was aware of was that Frankie had maybe had a slightly more privileged upbringing. He hadn’t had the same struggles Rob had had in moving up the career ladder, especially when it came to needing the funds to get this far. He hadn’t had to fight his way to the top. Not the way he had - he and Felipe. Both Frankie and his driver had been born and bred into the world of F1, and now they were rising stars at such a young age because of it.

He and Frankie sat chatting for God knows how long, Rob sinking more beers as the time went on, finding it was helping him to relax. Partygoers came and went, friends and acquaintances arrived to say happy birthday to Frankie, and ‘you must be so proud’ to Rob, and then just as things were dying down, Frankie’s mobile beeped.

“That your driver?” Rob asked, taking another gulp of beer.

Frankie nodded, and Rob saw him text with noticeably shaky hands. He scratched his head, kept his eyes fixed on the mobile, then cleared his throat a few times with what Rob sensed was nervousness.

“He’s over at the garage. You want to meet him, Dad?”

Rob paused. He’d seen the boy on television, seen the resemblance, but meeting him in the flesh would be a different matter. He pretended to be swallowing as he tried to think of an excuse not to go, but, with nothing coming to him, he eventually nodded.

“Sure. Lead the way Frankie.”

They walked through the paddock. It was a hot, sunny day, and Rob felt his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light as he followed his son into the back of the Sauber garage. Mechanics were laughing and joking, crowding around the car. They turned to face Frankie as he entered the garage, and Rob noted with pride how Frankie said hello to them all, asking them questions about their family, encouraging them in their work. The boy was mature beyond his years. Rob nodded hello to them all before approaching the car and seeing Felipinho Bassi Massa in the cockpit, helmet off, and laughing with one of the mechanics.

“Dad, this is...”

Felipinho stepped out of the car, holding out a hand and smiling warmly. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Smedley. Finally!”

Rob felt momentarily shaken but collected himself enough to take the hand.

“Please, call me Rob, Felipinho.”

“In that case, please call me Felipe. Felipinho is sort of a kid’s name, I think.”

“Felipe,” Rob laughed, taking a step back and exhaling. “You look so much like...”

“I know,” Felipinho nodded with a grin. “I could say the same about you and Frankie though.”

Rob ran a hand through his silvery hair self-consciously.

“Yeah – aside from all the grey and the slight paunch I suppose.” 

Felipinho smiled again, taking a swig from his water bottle and peering up at the monitors on the garage wall. Rob felt a jolt in his stomach as he regarded the way the boy stood, hands underneath his armpits, biting his lip in concentration; large brown eyes watching the screens intently. He was so much like Felipe it was staggering. Rob had already seen what he looked like, of course, but in real life the resemblance was so much more apparent; making the similar mannerisms all the more obvious. When Frankie walked over, handing his friend and driver a piece of chewing gum, Rob felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It was like seeing photos of he and Felipe from 20 years ago – one tall, pale, holding a clipboard to his chest; the other small, dark, constantly fidgeting and smiling.  _Always_  smiling. 

Rob’s eyes narrowed as he watched Frankie give Felipinho’s shoulder a squeeze, their bodies touching as he leaned towards his driver to show him something on the clipboard. Felipinho bit his lip as he listened to what his engineer was saying, nodding every now and then, before lifting his face towards Frankie and giving him a wink. Briefly Frankie touched Felipinho’s cheek lightly, resting a hand on his skin before pulling away rapidly and giving a cough as he looked around edgily. Rob squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. 

_Please God, not again._

He raised a hand to his forehead, pressing a flat palm against it in a futile attempt to stop the headache he could feel beginning to pulsate. If Lucy was here she would admonish him for not wearing his glasses, but he was too stubborn to put them on for anything other than reading. Anyway, he was fairly sure the sore head was more down to being back here than anything else. He took a few steps towards the pitlane, shielding his eyes as he peered down towards Ferrari. He knew that not going down there was cowardly, rude even – but he wasn’t prepared to deal with the memories right now, and if that made him a coward, then so be it.

He’d not worked as a race engineer after Felipe had left Ferrari. He’d been offered the position of Robert Kubica’s race engineer, but the thought of working with Felipe’s replacement would have seemed like a massive betrayal, even though Felipe, magnanimous as always, had told Rob that he should do it if he wanted; he wouldn’t mind – he would learn to work with somebody new at Renault. In the end, Rob had walked away. Sold the family home near Maranello and headed back to the UK with Lucy and the kids. Ferrari had been a haze of victory, pain, elation, regret, and after Felipe’s contract hadn’t gotten a last renewal, he’d realised how tired, how utterly exhausted he was. He had Frankie, Felix and Lucy; and Felipe had Felipinho and Raffaela. It was time for it all to stop.  

“Hellooooo?” Frankie was waving a hand in front of his face. “We’re going for the track walk – you fancy tagging along?”

“Frankie, I have to get back to the airport pretty sharpish today.”

His son’s pleading face and the lure of  _la pista magica_  was too much for him, and Rob found himself following Frankie and Felipinho onto the track. The two walked closely together, chattering away, ribbing one another mercilessly. Felipinho’s English was much better than Felipe’s had ever been, but Rob still heard a few “for sure’s” thrown into the conversation. It made him smile. He was a good kid. Felipe and Raffaela had raised him well. He let the two younger men discuss strategies, braking zones, and the track condition as they strolled around the track. There were plenty of fans there already, shouting their support as the latest Ferrari hero, Mick Schumacher, cycled past with his personal trainer. What was it about his generation that had produced the latest crop of F1 stars?

_‘Felipe baby, stay cool, we’re bringing you...'_

Rob whipped around. What the hell? He shook his head irritably as he saw Frankie answer his mobile with a wink.

“You’ve seriously got that as a ringtone, you little bas...”

“Shhh!” Frankie tutted, wagging a finger mischievously. “Mum’s on the ‘phone. C’mon dad, lighten up.” He pointed. “Look, Felipe finds it funny too.”

Felipinho stood on the brightly painted red and white kerbs of the first chicane, his arms crossed. He shrugged.

“Sorry Rob. I guess Frankie just wanted to make fun of you.”

“Yeah, what’s new.”

He looked over at his son, who was talking rapidly on the ‘phone to Lucy. Rob knew from experience that his wife would keep Frankie on the telephone all day if she could. 

Seeing Frankie sigh and shuffle his feet impatiently, Rob gave a nod towards the Curva Grande.

Shall we make a head start until Frankie stops yakking?”

“Sure!”

Now he was alone with the kid, Rob wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He felt... he felt almost nervous. Guilty, maybe? For what he and Felipe had been in the past, and maybe for not knowing Felipinho, not like he perhaps should have given how he’d been such a big part of the Massa family’s life the year that he’d been born. 2009. 25 years ago now, but Rob would never forget. He recalled Felipe’s fear that something was going to go wrong with the birth, then his excited telephone call to Rob when Felipinho had finally arrived. Rob supposed that that was the moment that he knew something had to give. It wasn’t fair to anyone to keep carrying on the way they were. It had lasted just as long as their careers at Ferrari had, but when Rob had returned to his homeland, he’d tried to forget. He’d spent a couple of years working for the BBC as one of the post-race pundits, then thrown himself into writing his autobiography. He still wasn’t sure why people had been interested, but it had sold well enough, and now he worked the after-dinner circuit. He seemed to spend his life talking about Felipe Massa. So why was it so hard to mention him in the presence of Felipe’s own son? It was like an elephant in the room.

“So how’s your dad?” he eventually asked.

“He’s great,” Felipinho replied, giving a brief wave as a couple of photographers sped past on mopeds, their long lenses pointed straight at the ageing race engineer and the son of the driver he would forever be associated with. 

“Good to hear,” Rob said gruffly, scratching his head. “Tell him I was asking about him, okay?”

“He’s going to be here on Sunday,” Felipinho commented, looking Rob straight in the eye, as if searching for something; some specific response. “In case you want to see him. It’s just I know it’s been a while, and...”

“I can’t,” Rob interrupted, perhaps a little too sharply. “My flight back to England leaves tonight. I have stuff to do at home... you know. I’d like to see your dad to catch up and stuff, but I’m so busy, and...”

“It’s okay Rob. I understand.”

Felipinho walked on ahead slightly, kicking at the kerb absentmindedly. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders seemed tense. Rob gritted his teeth and inwardly cursed himself for being so cagey with the lad. He mentally calculated how many years it had been since he’d last seen Felipe in the flesh. Had to be about 7 years – they’d seen one another at an event organised by Ferrari at Mugello to celebrate the marque’s 80th anniversary. Felipe had been busy driving a lot of vintage race cars that day, including the F2008. As an ex member of staff, Rob had been invited, and had seen that car on the track, an ache in his heart as he watched Felipe at the wheel, yellow-helmeted head leaning to one side as he took the corners, as always. The desire for it to be 20 years earlier, at Turkey or Bahrain or Interlagos, had almost felt like a physical pain. After that, Rob had vowed never to put himself through such torture again. He and Felipe had had a brief, 5 minute conversation that day before Felipe had had to rush off to go to an AC Milan football match. 

_‘How are you, Felipe?’_

_‘I’m fine. You?’_

_‘Good, good. The family okay?’_

_‘Yes. Yours?’_

_‘Doing well.’_

_‘Seeing you in that F2008, Felipe... it was...’_

_‘I know. Driving it felt the same. I felt it – here.’_

_He’d pressed his hand to his chest. Rob had made to reach out and touch what was left of Felipe’s salt and pepper hair, but thrust his hands back into his pockets. Felipe’s skin was heavily tanned from being in Sao Paulo all the time now; his scar now a faded silvery line, telling a story along his temple._

_‘I have to go straight to Milan after this, Rob,” Felipe had said. “We should – meet? Or something. Give me a call sometime?’_

_‘Sure Felipe. That sounds good. I will do.’_

He never had; they both knew that he wouldn’t, and that was the last time they had had any contact. Over the years, the texts and telephone calls and emails had steadily dwindled. Seven years was a long time without any contact.

He picked up his pace and caught Felipinho up. Frankie was just behind and Rob wanted to clear the air before he joined them again.

“I’m sure your dad is proud of you being in F1.”

Felipinho rolled his eyes slightly, and shook his head with a smirk.

“You know what he’s like – counting down the seconds until I get a Ferrari drive. All he wants is for me to drive for them.”

“Well they’re the best team to race for,” Rob replied, gazing around at the trees and grandstands of Monza; remembering the podiums here, remembering proudly looking up at Felipe as dozens of voices around him sang  _Il Canto degli Italiani_. “It was all your dad ever wanted – to drive for Ferrari. When you were born, I remember that all you got were Ferrari baby clothes.”

“Hmm... yeah,” Felipinho seemed non-committal. “It would be great, for sure.” He paused, looking Rob square in the eye. “I wouldn’t want to go there unless I could bring Frankie with me. You understand, right?” 

Rob didn’t know what the younger man was getting at. Or, he knew perfectly well but didn’t want to address the issue.

He quickly changed the subject.

“And your mother, is she okay with you racing?”

“She’s alright. As long as Frankie is there ‘looking after me’, as she likes to say.”

Felipinho noticed Rob’s puzzled expression.

“Who do you think got my dad to ask Peter Sauber to give Frankie a chance in the team? She asked dad to put a good word in for him. She said that if I had to race, then she didn’t want anyone other than a Smedley being my engineer.”

Rob stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback.

“Really?”

“Yes. She said she knew she could trust a son of yours to keep me safe.”

Rob felt the familiar sour taste of guilt in his mouth. 

“Your mother’s a good woman. She always was.”

Felipinho gave a wry chuckle.

“She would need to be. She knew, you know.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean, Rob. She  _knew_.”

Rob opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He didn’t know what to say. Felipinho had said it so matter of factly. And he didn’t seem angry, or upset, or like he wanted to knock his block off. Rob knew that he had every right to do so – and he’d be no match for a super fit 24 year old, however diminutive.

“Slow down you two!” Frankie jogged up, looking from his father to his friend. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s great,” Felipinho replied, putting his arm around Frankie’s shoulder. Rob saw the joy on his son’s face; saw the way Felipinho looked at him, soft brown eyes gazing happily at his friend. He knew that look all too well.

“Come on,” Frankie said, rubbing his hands together. “We still have work to do.”

*

Frankie was talking to the mechanics in the garage, and Rob strolled across the pitlane to the pitwall. He ran a hand along the smooth leather of the stools, shaking his head at all the new buttons that he didn’t recognise. He remembered the nervousness; the exhilaration of being one of the priviliged few who had gotten to work from an F1 pitwall. He remembered years of watching a red car on the monitor, always being the calm one, always being the one to reassure.

“Rob?”

Felipinho walked over and joined him, bright blue Sauber baseball cap on. He sat down on one of the stools; the raised platform finally making him eye level with Rob.

“About what I said earlier...”

“You must hate me,” Rob sighed, shaking his head, hardly daring to look Felipinho in the eye. More to himself than anyone else, he murmured “Raffaela must hate me too.”

Felipinho chewed his lip momentarily, and then shrugged.

“No. She could never hate you. Not after dad’s accident, and what you did for Uncle Dudu. Not after the way you took care of everyone that weekend. I don’t think she ever forgot that. I think, after that, she would forgive you for anything.”

Rob squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. He felt stinging behind his eyes; hoping against hope that years and years worth of guilt about Raffaela were suddenly on the verge of being released.

“And you?”

“No. Maybe when I was younger. When I didn’t understand. 

But I understand now.”

“Understand?”

Felipinho chewed on his thumbnail nervously. 

“You gave up my dad for us. You made sure that he was going to be around when I was growing up. If you hadn’t... maybe... maybe he wouldn’t have been there for us. And...” he nodded a head towards the garage, where Frankie was scribbling something on his clipboard. “...when I met Frankie, I realised how difficult that must have been for you to do.”

He looked at his feet shyly. 

Rob’s voice was gruff as he replied, a lump the size of a baseball in his throat. 

“Your dad would have been there for you, no matter what. I would never have wanted him to not be around when you were growing up. The choice was easy – you came first. It wasn’t me that made the decision, so don’t  _ever_  thank me. There was never any decision to be made, not really. There was no question of Felipe ever being out of your life.”

He stopped, and Rob looked over at his son.

“Does Frankie know?”

Felipinho’s swarthy cheeks were enveloped in a blush.

“Yes. I mean – I guess so.”

“Then talk about it with him. Don’t spend the next however many years of your life hanging on and hoping that everything will miraculously work out.”

“What’s the point?”

“Things might be different nowadays,” Rob said quietly. “20 years ago, no way. But what does it matter? It might be scary, but take the chance. Before girlfriends and wives and families come into play. Make your choices now – don’t leave it until it’s too late and you have no other option but to walk away.”

Felipinho looked pensive, then gave a slight smile.

“My dad was right – you’re a good man.”

Rob threw his hands up.

“No,” he replied softly. “I wouldn’t go that far.” 

He glanced at his watch. “I have to leave now so I can get my flight. I’m just going to say goodbye to Frankie. Remember what I said. You don’t want to spend your whole life wondering how it would have turned out if you had just talked about it properly.”

He walked briskly into the garage, leaving the boy sitting there, kicking his feet against the stool. He enveloped Frankie in a hug. He was worried for him. He didn’t want his life to become a mass of complications the way his had once been.

“I guess I’ll see you at the start of December then?” he asked.

“Yep dad, you will.” Frankie pulled back. “Um, what did you think of Felipe?”

Rob patted his son on the shoulder.

“I think he’s just like his dad. Make sure you take good care of him, won’t you.”

Rob exhaled, looking around and mentally saying goodbye to Monza. He wondered if he’d ever be back here. This was Frankie’s life now, not his. 

He watched with a slight sense of trepidation as Felipinho rushed over, cheeks flushed and mobile phone in his hand. 

“Rob!”

“Yeah?”

Felipinho looked down at his mobile, then back up at Rob, eyes shining.

“Dad just texted me – he came to the track early.” He took a breath. “He’s down at the Ferrari garage. Right now.”

Rob felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Does he know that _I’m_  here?”

Felipinho shook his head.

“No. I can tell him, if you want?”

Rob put his hand up.

“No. Thanks, but it’s fine. Cheers for letting me know.”

He pulled on his coat, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his hands trembling as he did the zip up. He was 60. 60 years old. And Felipe was 53 now. He had his children and his wife and his home. All he wanted these days was a quiet life. But there was an longing inside him to see Felipe Massa again. Even just once, even just for a few minutes. If he could bear it.

Walking towards the edge of the garage, Rob could turn right, and see the man he’d spent the last 20 years trying to forget about. Or he could turn left, and walk away for good. 

He took a step forward.


End file.
